When I heard she had great form
I thought they spoke of diction
Even if they were you’d
Never find her buried up
In Young Adult Fiction.

Had she outgrown shelf
And poorly laminated barcode
Or did she just avoid?
Got it in the end
Printed on thin cardboard
And hard to find.

How many ones and zeroes
Gonna make me feel
A way with words so good
Moore’s law is too slow
For me to cop a feel
Before the silicon melts and fries.
Before she can slap me.

I told here a conjured and adjective:
-rurban.
Said it reconciled the vast difference
between the pretension of agriculture
and the humility of urban regions.
She laughed and refused
To pick up the tab.

Twenty thousand breaths
Between here and
Endless Summer
Nights
And the air is electric
like
High tension power lines
Whipping in the wind like
Ropes,
like
Licorice
Delivering energy
To everyone
Free of charge.

He removed his helmet under the dim orange light revealing a head of short and bushy black hair atop a boyish complexion. He smiled feverishly as their eyes locked in the mist. He rushed to embrace her so quickly that if you paused the scene or got distracted by better-things-to-do you’d swear they would join in a first rate french kiss that film directors everywhere wish they could choreograph. But they did not. instead a sloppy sort of one-armed hug ensued, slightly uncomfortable owing to the moisture, but brief and rather pleasant.

Mystery and intrigue in the house that funk built!
Disco detectives have their work cut out for them.
There they are, drunk and sprawled over the bar.
Smug. In on some guarded knowledge. Wasted.

Now they’re talking to each other, saying things like
Hey I know this guy, he turns old washing machines
Into electronic musical instruments, wanna see one?
They wander outside to smoke some more cigarettes.

He wants to see one. It would
Be so shockingly fantastic
So utterly brilliant
Heartbreaking,
Even.